Like a Faded Moon
by harpersbox
Summary: Whether you're in a bar, the middle of a field, an alley way, or the woods, things are infinitely more exciting when there's a werewolf around.


Hey guys, thanks for checking the story out!

I obviously don't own anything that you recognize, though Scarlette is totally mine. For better or for worse.

* * *

_Boston, Massachusetts._

_September, 2009.  
_

There was something halfway charming and mysterious and exciting about the smoke filled bars that they frequented that made Sam hate them far less than he'd admit.

Of course, that didn't mean that he could suddenly turn a blind eye to the complete trashiness of most of the girls in the bar like Dean, though the one he'd found tonight looked almost… nice. She was pretty, that much was sure – all long legs and blonde hair, with navy blue eyes and a straight white smile. And she'd demonstrated her ability to hold her own when Sam and Dean had tried to hustle one of her friends at pool: she'd apparently lent him the money earlier in the night and wasn't about to let him lose it.

She'd beat them, but hadn't bothered them about their money. She'd just collected hers back off the table and turned back to her group of friends.

"There's a motel just up the road," Dean said quietly in the general vicinity of her ear, one hand resting on the bar, the other on her hip. "What do you say -"

The girl grinned scathingly, thumbing at the collar of Dean's jacket. "There's no way in _hell_ I'm leaving with you."

Dean smirked, despite himself. "What," he took a step closer to her, hand abandoning the bar to instead smooth over her shoulder. "You don't trust me?" It wasn't that he wasn't willing to admit that he'd been shot down, but she'd still proved herself a good fight. She hadn't quite proved her point, but she'd put in a valiant effort in their Styx versus Led Zeppelin debate.

"You tried to hustle my friend in pool." She said simply, tilting her head so her hair spilled over his hand. Hers hadn't moved from his collar, where one of her thumbs was moving in slow circles against his neck. "Now how am I supposed to trust someone who did that?"

Dean smirked, sliding the hand on her hip further into the small of her back, and pulled her against him, ducking his head and using his other hand to tilt her head up to kiss her.

--

At the end of the night, he _hadn't _manage to get her back to the motel, but they got far enough standing at the bar to be _asked _to take their "show" somewhere else. She seemed to come back to her good, responsible – he hadn't tasted an ounce of alcohol on her lips – mind and had spirited away with a smile, and Dean was left to polish off another beer with Sam.

Unfortunately, the last beer brought his total up to six, and for all of his bravado, Dean was generally done at four. Something Sam had always held above Dean was that he could hold his alcohol better than Dean could, he just didn't drink that often. Dean just pegged it off to him being "freakishly tall" and that he'd "rather be buzzed than a freak".

So on their way out, Sam was stooped with a hand resting on Dean's upper arm as he wavered slightly. "Dean, man, I need the keys."

Even as he stumbled against his little brother, Dean shook his head. "Not a chance, Sammy. 'M driving."

"Not a chance. If you're driving, I'm walking, and I'm not coming to pick you up out of jail. Which means the Impala will be left in the impound yard until some kids come by and hock it for parts." Sam was taking a big chance - even drunk, Dean was a good shot. Then again, Dean was also very narrow-minded when he was drunk – the Impala, Sam, and skimpy clothing was all he could really see.

Dean grumbled something and dug through his pocket. After a minute, he stopped Sam, and checked the other pocket. After a minute, Dean glanced up at Sam. "I dunno, Sammy…"

"You lost the keys?" Sam asked, amazed. The bartender hadn't taken them – they'd come together, and Sam had been drinking nothing but Coke the entire night, all but hanging a sign around his neck reading _Designated Driver_.

"Must've just left them. I'll be right back." Dean turned on his heel and Sam thought for a minute he was going to fall over, but didn't, and moved off back towards the bar at a fairly even, balanced pace. _Losing the keys to the Impala must have really sobered him… _Sam smirked and shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, continuing on to the car, untroubled.

And then Sam was _quite _troubled. The trunk of the Impala was open, and he could see the outline of someone moving through it. Sam drew the gun from the back of his jeans and moved forward at a steady pace, like he hadn't noticed anything. The ground was gravel, and he and Dean had just been arguing in less than dulcet tones, so the element of surprise wasn't exactly on his side, leaving him to just try and get the upper hand when he had the chance.

It wouldn't be easy if the other person was elbow deep in a goddamn armory. Though, there was a good chance all the person would come up with was a gun with rocksalt in it.

"Hey," Sam said as he turned to face the intruder.

It was the blonde.

She cast him a bored look, a flashlight in the hand she had curled around the trunk cover. "Your brother should keep better track of his keys. Honestly, I'm really surprised you two haven't been killed yet." She pushed through the mess of weapons and picked a gun up. Sam tensed, but she didn't even point it at him – just poured the bullets out into her hands, looked at them, and then replaced them and put the gun back in the trunk before picking up another one. She'd dropped the flashlight back into the trunk, so Sam wasn't sure how she could see, and in the light, her navy blue eyes had turned… animalistic.

"Oh my god," Sam cocked the gun and pointed it at her. "Oh my -"

"If you're half as bright as everyone says, you know that this isn't going to work to your advantage. At all." She was still moving robotically through the guns; didn't even cast him a glance. "In fact, it would probably just piss me off. But by all means, if it makes you feel better, go for it."

Sam didn't move, just kept the gun pointing at her steadily, until she seemed to find what she was looking for, and when Sam looked closer at the gun, he realized that it was the one already filled with silver bullets. A smile flooded over her features, her eyes reverting back to their human form, and she tucked the gun inside her tan trench coat with one hand while using the other to shut the trunk and lock it.

She turned towards Sam and he took a step towards her with the gun, but she just smirked and tossed him the keys. He caught them automatically, and waited for her to make the next move. As much as he knew that he should shoot her, that Dean would want her dead even if she hadn't killed anyone – to Sam's knowledge, he couldn't help asking:

"What you just did -"

"Steal your gun?"

"No." Well, yeah, a little bit, "Your eyes. It's not a full moon, but you changed, and you isolated it." Madison… had been feral. The very definition of a werewolf. He didn't know how this girl had gotten such control over it, but it just left a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. If there had been a way for her to get to this point, the point where she could have controlled it like the blonde so obviously could, maybe she would have been…

She smirked again, half condescending, half pitying. "Think more _Blood and Chocolate_, less folklore and urban legends." Her eyes left Sam's face, and instead moved over his shoulder. "Your brother is coming. I think that if you shoot me, for no apparent reason, it would upset him quite a bit. She looked back at Sam. "Especially since I'm going to ask him for a ride." She closed her eyes laughingly. "Home, I mean. So I suggest you put that nice gun of yours away, before he sees you pointing it at me. I didn't even do anything."

And with that, she moved around the Impala, so that when she approached Dean from behind, making it seem like she hadn't just been talking with Sam. Dean seemed to be barely listening to her, just continued towards Sam, obviously slightly more panicked that he hadn't found his keys inside. He stopped short when he saw them in Sam's hand. "What the hell, Sam? Did you have them the whole time, or what?"

The blonde was still standing at Dean's side, blinking curiously at Sam.

"Yeah, man. Sorry, I forgot I lifted them from you when you started getting trashed." He shrugged. "Sorry." He still had the gun in his hand and seemed to realize it; moved towards the trunk and unlocked it again, tossing the handgun inside though he knew that it meant he'd just have to come back and get it before he went to the motel.

Dean stared at him for a minute, before letting it go. "Whatever. We're just going to drop Scar off at her apartment before we head back to the motel."

"Scar?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, we didn't get a chance to talk inside. I'm Scarlette Barr, thanks so much. My friends have quite the drive ahead of them, since they live out of state, and have an appointment tomorrow, and didn't plan on staying so long… you know how it is." She stuck her hand out. Long blonde hair fell over her shoulder, shielding her face from Dean, and she gave Sam an expectant look.

He took her hand, trying his best not to look _too _disgusted. "Sam."

She grinned, and mouthed, _good boy_, pausing to run her tongue over suddenly elongated canine teeth.

And then Scarlette Barr, bitch by blood and personality, turned and stepped into the back of the Impala like it was the most normal think in the world. And Sam couldn't do anything but let it happen.


End file.
